We Are All Just Stories
by santeria
Summary: "I couldn't spend a lifetime with you anyway! You're dead!" "And whose fault is that?" A Cobb/Arthur story with a dark twist.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** Goodness, I've just been churning out stories lately. This one's a bit slashy, which is not something I usually do, but I think it turned out pretty well.

**We Are All Just Stories**

He realizes, as he kneels next to his Point Man's spasming body, that he's never quite gotten used to seeing Arthur dying. He feels like the sharp gunshots should be fading into silence, like the bullets peppering the space around them should be slowing down as if the air was suddenly as thick as molasses, because _Arthur is dying_. The Point Man has been shot twice, one bullet slicing into his abdomen while the other tore into his lung, and he is shaking and gasping, and Cobb instinctively reaches for Arthur's blood-covered hand. A dull chopping noise comes to his attention, and he turns to see a helicopter descending nearby. In the back is the regal, unmistakable profile of Saito. A bullet sings past Cobb's face, missing him by several inches, and Cobb flinches back. There is no time to lose. He pulls out his gun and levels it to Arthur's head. The dying man's eyes widen and Cobb takes a short moment to empathise. Getting shot is never the nicest way to wake up.

Arthur is gasping out something, but the sporadic gunshots and the whir of the helicopter make it difficult to hear. "See you up above!" yells Cobb, and shoots Arthur in the head. Still crouching low, he runs to the helicopter, grateful to Saito for showing up before anything else could go seriously wrong.

* * *

There is an unmistakable bounce in Cobb's step as he walks into the warehouse. He has just dropped James and Philippa off at school, and he has a challenging but interesting job ahead of him. He knows that he told Miles that the Fischer job would be the last job, but after a few months of relaxing with his children he started to feel the pull of the dream-world. However, now he takes jobs that are strictly legal, with a small chance of danger.

Eames and Ariadne are already there, which is unusual. Even more oddly, they are crouched together over Eames' desk, clearly engrossed in secret conversation. They both whip around and stare at him when he slams the door behind him, and he pauses to consider them. They exchange stares until Cobb shrugs and decides to leave them to their conversation. He strides over to Arthur's desk, pulls a couple bulky files from his briefcase, and stacks the files neatly on the already tidy desktop. "Eames, let Arthur know I want these read by tomorrow morning," he instructs, and waltzes to his own office, eager to get started on his own research.

Later, when the daylight outside has dimmed to a dark velvet blue and after Eames and Ariadne have left, Cobb surreptitiously observes Arthur. The younger man is sitting in his chair, his left ankle resting on his right knee and his pointed elbows digging into the armrests, his fingers intertwined and his expression thoughtful. He is wearing khakis and his striped shirt, and Cobb dryly thinks that it's the most casual he's seen Arthur at work. Cobb pretends to be reading while he covertly stares at Arthur. He wonders what Arthur is pondering so deeply, but at the same time is glad Arthur is so absorbed in his thoughts, because it gives Cobb time to trace his gaze over Arthur's profile, to study the other man's sharp lines and angles again even though he has already memorized them.

Cobb has been close friends with Arthur for years, and maybe that's why it took him so long to realize that his love for Arthur was more than platonic. He'd always known that Arthur was a good-looking guy, had always appreciated his wry wit, had always trusted Arthur with his family and his life, but something about Cobb's perception of Arthur had changed after the Fischer job. No longer bogged down by Mal's malicious shade, he was free to turn his romantic attentions toward others, and somewhere along the way he came to understand that Arthur was the one he wanted.

"Cobb?"

Jerked out of his Arthur-induced reverie, Cobb blinks and finds Arthur watching him with a concerned look etched on his face, with his red leather jacket slung over his arm and his briefcase in hand. "You okay?"

Cobb nods jerkily, trying desperately not to blush. He fixes his gaze above Arthur's right ear. Arthur stands there for a few seconds more as if uncertain whether to leave, and after a long, tense moment of silence he clears his throat and mutters "Good night."

"See you tomorrow," Cobb says, as Arthur slips out the door. Relief courses through Cobb and he sags in his chair. He has to do something about his infatuation with Arthur, because it's driving him nuts and it would be really embarrassing to be caught staring like a lovesick teenager. Tomorrow, he decides. He'll make a move tomorrow.

As for tonight, he thinks as he switches off the lights and goes to pick James and Philippa up from their grandparents', tonight will be one of those nights he wishes he could dream.

* * *

Cobb is puzzled. Eames and Ariadne have arrived at work before himself and Arthur _two days in a row_, and to top it off they're having another one of their secretive conversations. "What's going on with you two?" he asks, a serious question masquerading as joke. Eames looks away but Ariadne's gaze slides to Arthur's desk as she says "Nothing."

It's such a tiny action, just a quick flick of her eyes towards Arthur's tidy little section of the warehouse, but it makes Cobb's indescribably nervous. _They've figured him out_. They know how he feels about Arthur, and judging by how uncomfortable they seem about it, they don't think Arthur reciprocates. Eames seems especially fidgety about it, and Cobb thinks of the taunts and innuendos the Forger constantly aims Arthur's way, and suddenly it is obvious. Eames wants Arthur too. The thought makes Cobb flush with anger and jealousy. He grits his teeth and, not trusting himself to speak, stalks out the room. He definitely has to make his move today, before Eames does. If this is a race, Cobb is determined to win it.

* * *

Arthur looks deliciously dishevelled, which is understandable given that they have spent all day testing new compounds for Yusuf, and Arthur's chair- with the Point Man in it- was kicked over several times. The loose chunks of dark hair hang in Arthur's face, making him look softer and younger. He is packing his things for the day when Cobb shoves down his insecurities and saunters over. He leans against the edge of the desk, his arms crossed, and openly watches Arthur. The other man continues his task, not acknowledging Cobb until he is finished. "Cobb," he says, pointedly raising his eyebrow at the Extractor's proximity. A chunk of hair shifts into his eyes, the smooth curve of it directing Cobb's gaze right into Arthur's soulful brown eyes, and suddenly Cobb has a hard time breathing. "Arthur," is all he can whisper before he is leaning forward. Time seems to have slowed down; he notices how Arthur's eyes widen then latch onto Cobb's face, following the motion as Cobb moves closer. By the time the tips of their noses are brushing and Arthur's breath is ghosting over Cobb's lips, it looks like Arthur's eyes are closed. Only a faint glimmer from between his lashes reveals otherwise, and Cobb closes his own eyes and takes the plunge.

* * *

He is floating, made of air. He didn't get much sleep last night, and the sight of the warehouse revives the memories of yesterday evening. Arthur was all he could think about last night, Arthur who kissed him back enthusiastically, almost feverishly, who carded his thin hands through Cobb's hair, who let Cobb's own hands explore underneath his clothes. Cobb hasn't been this happy in a very long time, and he's so caught up in his bliss that for the rest of the morning he doesn't notice anything going on around him.

Until Eames quits.

Cobb isn't quite clear on why the Forger does it. Eames is clearly shaken, his words jarring and almost incomprehensible to Cobb, and he jabbers on about Mal and time off from work and Arthur. There's quite a lot about Arthur but Cobb can't pin down what Eames is trying to say. Then the Forger is gone, his footsteps stomping away, and Cobb tries to follow him but Eames slams the warehouse door in his face. Cobb stares, stunned, at the plain door, then slowly turns away. Ariadne is watching him with an almost fearful expression on her face; Arthur's desk is empty. He has a brief moment to wonder where Arthur's got to before Ariadne is suddenly standing beside him.

"Cobb?" she says, cautiously, as if he were liable to blow up at her for Eames' surprising behavior. He recalls the secretive conversations she and Eames have been holding. Maybe she knows what's going on. Maybe she's going to quit as well.

"What was that about?" He asks, and Ariadne looks momentarily lost.

"Well, he was upset. About Arthur."

"Arthur?" Cobb repeats dumbly. He knows he has been acting foolishly gleeful all day, and suspects Arthur was doing the same; no doubt Eames and Ariadne noticed and put two and two together. Still, he never expected Eames to take it so badly.

"Yeah," Ariadne confirms, as if it were obvious. "I mean, Eames and I...we just can't understand how you can be so _happy _about it."

Something is not making sense here. He thinks he and Ariadne are not talking about quite the same things. He's trying to piece it together when Ariadne sighs sadly. "Take some time off, Cobb. I think you need it." She grabs her bag and slings it over her shoulder. "And don't forget, Arthur's funeral is at 2 today."

His heart skips and his mind grinds to a halt. _Arthur's funeral?_

* * *

_He realizes, as he kneels next to his Point Man's spasming body, that he's never quite gotten used to seeing Arthur dying. He feels like the sharp gunshots should be fading into silence, like bullets peppering the space around them should be slowing down as if the air was suddenly as thick as molasses, because Arthur is dying. The Point Man has been shot twice, one bullet slicing into his abdomen while the other tore into his lung, and he is shaking and gasping, and Cobb instinctively reaches for Arthur's blood-covered hand. A dull chopping noise comes to his attention, and he turns to see a helicopter descending nearby. In the back is the regal, unmistakable profile of Saito. A bullet sings past Cobb's face, missing him by several inches, and Cobb flinches back. There is no time to lose. He pulls out his gun and levels it to Arthur's head. The dying man's eyes widen and Cobb takes a short moment to empathise. Getting shot is never the nicest way to wake up._

_Arthur is gasping out something, but the sporadic gunshots and the whir of the helicopter make it difficult to hear. "No. C-Cobb, we aren't- dreaming-"_

"_See you up above!" yells Cobb, and shoots Arthur in the head. Still crouching low, he runs to the helicopter, grateful to Saito for showing up before anything else could go seriously wrong._

* * *

"Who were the men shooting at us?" His voice is little more than a whisper. Arthur doesn't look at him, just continues to stare out the window at the thickly pouring rain. They are in Cobb's house; Arthur stands at the window, dressed in a suave black suit, his back to Cobb. "Cobol," he answers simply.

Cobb moves to stand next to Arthur. He doesn't say anything. He doesn't think he's physically capable of saying anything. Arthur puts his hands in his pockets. "Officially, I died from getting shot by Cobol's men. No one but Saito knows it was-" He cuts off his sentence but they both know how it's supposed to end. "He understands that you were confused." They stand silently together. Cobb thinks of Mal, falling from the hotel ledge; of Saito, trapped in Limbo for decades; of his children, now motherless. All his fault. Now Arthur is gone because of him. It's a miracle, he thinks, that he hasn't yet done anything to ruin Eames's, Ariadne's, and Yusuf's lives.

He glances at the clock. He only set the timer for a minute, and he's been down here with Arthur for almost ten minutes now. There are still ten minutes left; he doesn't think he can handle staying here for much longer. He has to leave soon, anyway. To make it to Arthur's funeral. He looks from the clock to Arthur, and a gun appears into his hand. Arthur glances at it, then looks up at Cobb's face curiously. Cobb leans over and presses their lips together in a quick, chaste kiss. He can't go any further than that, not knowing what he does now.

Eight minutes before the timer runs out. He holds the gun to his temple. "See you up above," he says softly, because it feels like he needs to say something and _goodbye_ is too final. Arthur nods, and Cobb pulls the trigger.


	2. Chapter 2

He can't quite bring himself to believe that the richly polished wooden box contains Arthur. No. Arthur's _body_.

Arthur is dead. It was just last night he was gripping Arthur's hips and smashing their lips together, but that was only a dream, a comforting lie created by his subconscious while his own body was hooked up to the PASIV.

It hadn't felt like a dream.

_Arthur is dead_, he repeats. _Arthur is dead and I killed him_. He needs a cigarette. He needs Saito to stop sending him concerned glances. He needs to not be at his best friend's fucking _funeral_. Fuck. He needs Arthur. That's it; he just needs Arthur, needs to see his pale skin and his condescending smirk. If he can have that, then the rest of the world can go to hell and it would fine with him because he would have Arthur. _No_, he reminds himself sternly, and thinks of the people who need _him_. James and Philippa. He's already left them without a mother. He won't leave them with a shell of a father as well.

* * *

"I need to let you go," he says, carding his hands through Arthur's coffee-coloured locks. Arthur says nothing, just looks up at him sloe-eyed through a wreath of cigarette smoke. His lips quirk almost sneeringly, and Dom sees an echo of Mal as she had been after she died; she had worn slinky dresses he couldn't resist, her face made up perfectly to emphasize her sultry lips and devilish eyes, and her words had been cruel. He remembers a gun in her hand and the sharp bang when she shot Arthur in the leg, remembers the diamond glint of a knife twirling in her lithe fingers. He hopes Arthur isn't becoming like that. He doesn't think he has the strength to murder Arthur again.

"You're dead," he reminds Arthur. "I can't have you hanging around like this in my subconscious. It isn't safe." Arthur remains silent. Instead his smooth fingers trace their way up the front of his shirt, skimming over the skin of his neck and nestling under his ear.

"I have to focus on my children," Dom argues with the mute Point Man on his lap. Arthur hasn't said a word, but, dammit, his provocative actions feel like arguments. Very persuasive arguments.

"So let me go," murmurs Arther lazily, winding his hand through Dom's own hair. He smirks again, and they both know that Dom has no control over Arthur. Not _this_ Arthur, this simplified projection of a complex man who will never again exist outside of dreams. Dom sighs. He doesn't want to deal with another Mal, and he knows that if Arthur stays he, like Mal, will become a twisted ruin of a memory, a dark shade mirroring Dom's guilt back at him.

But then Arthur is sitting up, his suit rustling quietly as he moves, and when he rests his head on Dom's shoulder, Dom thinks that maybe it will be alright to keep Arthur around for a little while longer. He isn't hurting anyone.

Yet.

* * *

He decides to take a break from work. He had just gotten back in the field but now Arthur has thrown him off kilter. He calls Ariadne and tells her he won't be working for a while, and after she hangs up he dials Eames, but the Forger doesn't answer is phone and he leaves an apology-filled message after the beep. Then he goes outside and plays with his children; for a short time he is focused only on them, and it is only after he tucks them in and wanders to his own room that his thoughts turn back to the problem of Arthur. "Why did I have to wait until you were dead to tell you I love you?" he mutters into his pillow while imagining his friend.

He imagines Arthur lying across from him, dressed in white t-shirt, the blanket pooling around his slim waist, smiling languidly. He wonders what would have happened if he had confessed his feelings while Arthur was alive. He imagines they would curl up together in the bed, his arms looping around the Point Man's thinner frame while they slept, and in the mornings they would get up when the sun was just starting to peek over the horizon. They would amble downstairs and make breakfast, enough food for them and the kids, and when the children awoke they would run down the stairs, screaming like monkeys, and upon seeing them Arthur would scoop them up in his arms and whirl them around the kitchen. They would demolish the food then cart the kids off to school, and drive to work with the radio playing loud, and, and..."You're such a sap," he imagines Arthur saying.

When he met Mal he would sometimes send her flowers simply because he felt like it, or he would go out of his way to get jobs in Paris since she loved the city so much. Even after they had been married for years he would put special effort into planning their anniversary, her birthday, and Valentine's Day. He would have done those same things for Arthur.

He realises that the left side of his face is slightly cold and damp from the growing wet spot spreading across the cotton pillowcase. He doesn't wipe away his tears, just buries his face deeper into the downy fluff and wraps his arms around it.

He just needs something to hold.

* * *

He doesn't use the PASIV for a week. Seven straight dreamless nights leave him feeling refreshed, and on Monday he thinks he has the strength to face Arthur again. Nimbly he hooks up the needle and slides it under the thin skin on the underside of his arm. He settles back into the lounge chair and closes his eyes, breathing deep and trying not to think of anything...

Arthur looks at him with dark eyes that flicker with malice. Even when he grins the hostility stays, lending his expression an oddly disturbing tone. "Stay with me," he purrs, leaning forward, his elbows resting on the table. Their hands entwine, and Dom almost wishes he could pull away but he can't because Arthur is so damn captivating in his ebony suit, pressed white shirt, and bow-tie. "I..." he begins weakly, then Arthur is gripping his hand painfully, the cold smile still in place. "It's the least you could do," says Arthur silkily. "For killing me." Dom has no reply, and he pretends to peruse the menu in front of them. It's a very high class restaurant, one that he's visited before, but as far as he knows Arthur never went to it. A pale hand snakes over the top of the laminated cream-coloured page, and the menu is slammed onto the tabletop. Their glasses and silverware rattle against the china plates. Arthur's mouth is a thin, disapproving line but his voice sounds very calm. "Stay with me," he repeats. Dom stares at Arthur's hand, still pressed down on the menu.

"For how long?"

"It doesn't have to be long in the real world. But in Limbo..."

His head snaps up, staring at the Point Man in horror. "No," he says brusquely, the word spilling out before his brain can stop it. Arthur narrows his eyes.

"You stayed there with Mal." His nostrils flare delicately.

"That was diff-"

"Or am I not as good as she was? Not good enough to spend a lifetime with?" His face looks like marble, all hard angles and cold gleaming skin. Dom feels slightly ill.

"I couldn't spend a lifetime with you _anyway_," he points out desperately. "You're dead!"

"And whose fault is that?" Arthur snarls, almost yelling, then he is smashing his wine glass against the table. It disintegrates into sparkling scraps, cutting into Arthur's hand, causing a small pool of scarlet to blossom. Arthur seizes one of the largest shards and lunges across the table, his other hand twisting Dom's tie, pulling him forward. Dom can't think, only pulls feebly back, but the crystal shard is descending to his neck, burying deep and ruthless- and he gasps awake, his hands flying automatically to throat to check for damage. The skin is smooth and unbroken. _Only a dream_, he reminds himself. But the flinty look in Arthur's eyes, the callous twist of his lips, are imprinted deep into his memory; it's slightly odd, because he never saw Arthur in real life lose control like that and it was terrifying to see such anger on a face that he had only ever remembered as being calm and occasionally amused or annoyed.

His heart is still fluttering nervously and cold sweat trickles from his forehead as he removes the needle and tucks it inside the silver briefcase. He needs some time away from the PASIV to figure out what to do about the situation.

He needs Miles.

* * *

He explains the situation to Miles, and when he done explaining he asks "What should I do about Arthur?" Miles is silent for a short time, and he can practically see the older man cocking his head thoughtfully before he answers.

"I don't think it's Arthur you should be worrying about, Dom. You need to worry about _you_. I think...if you accept your feelings for Arthur, and you accept that you killed him and it was an accident...I think his shade will go away."

He sighs. "I'll give it a shot. Thanks."

"Anytime."

They hang up without saying goodbye.

* * *

_This is the last time I'll abandon you_

_And this is the last time I'll forget you_

_I wish I could..._

He switches off the radio. The song was too close to home to bear listening to, and it hurts even more because Arthur had liked that band. The car trembles to a stop and he shuts off the ignition, leans against the headrest and breathes deep. The flowers on the passenger seat burn crimson, and he wonders why he got red roses, because the color looks too much like Arthur's blood when it spread across the white linen tablecloth in the most recent dream. He scoops up the flowers, fumbling with them a bit while he opens the door, and steps out. The air is chill and the sky a depressing grey, and he gloomily thinks that this is perfect weather for him. He buttons up his black coat, strides to his destination, and the weather is painting everything else drab grey too. The roses are the brightest thing in the cemetery.

The headstone hasn't been installed yet, and the mound of dirt is disturbingly fresh. He knows it is the correct grave; the location of it is burned into his mind, he could find it with his eyes closed. He removes one of the roses from the bouquet and places the rest of them at the head of grave. Then he's crying, _again_, and he swears he didn't even cry this much when Mal died. Mostly because he'd just felt numb, and there hadn't been time to grieve. He weeps and all he can say it "I'm sorry" over and over, and when his tears finally run out he feels old and worn. He kneels beside the dirt mound for a while longer, then pushes himself heavily up and he trudges to another grave-site. This one has a headstone, a simple but lovely thing with two names engraved on it, even though only one of the graves beneath it is occupied. He places the lone rose besides Mal's name and stands there wordlessly before shambling back to his car and driving home in silence.

* * *

"I'm sorry," says Arthur softly. Dom glances over and sees Arthur's eyes shining with regret and an apology written clearly on his handsome face. Once again he is struck by how strange it is to see Arthur being so emotional.

"I know," he says, and their hands knit together as they walk through Rome. They enter the Villa Borghese, which in real life is on the other side of the city, but he likes the gardens and wants to wander through them with Arthur. They don't speak as they walk, even though there are no projections to interrupt them. The stars dangle overhead and he tilts his head back to stare at them.

"I just wanted you to stay," explains Arthur quietly, after about twenty minutes of comfortable silence.

"I know," he repeats. Then, "But I can't stay with you, Arthur. You're _gone._"

Arthur shakes his head. "I'm right here." He lifts Dom's left hand and presses it to his chest, to the heartbeat that patters there. "See?"

It's so tempting, to stay in Rome with Arthur while the heavens whirl above them, but he's been down that path before and he knows it leads nowhere good. "I can't. I'm sorry." He tugs his hand free and walks away quickly, tucking his hands in his pockets and forcing himself to not look back. "Dom!" calls Arthur desperately, but he doesn't respond. _It's not real_, he tells himself. _Arthur's not real_.

"Dom!" The Point Man calls again; his voice is farther away so he's clearly not following, but Dom starts running just the same. He flies over the sidewalk, past villas and palazzos and marble statues that watch him with hollow eyes, and he can't stop because if he does Arthur will be there, and he can't handle that right now.

When he wakes up he doesn't cry.

* * *

He doesn't hook up to PASIV anymore. Instead he spends time with his children, and he works on renovating a section of the house. He thinks of Mal and of Arthur less and less, and one night when Philippa asks for a story he finds himself telling them about one of the first jobs he, Mal, and Arthur worked on, when they were just starting out and had no real idea what they were doing. They had been in Bangkok, and when he tells the story he embellishes some parts to make it more comedic (not that it needed much help in that department) and he leaves out a few other parts, such as the time a beautiful, bejewelled _kathoey_ had begun flirting with a befuddled, tipsy Arthur, the results of which had been hilarious but not altogether child-friendly ("Because- 'cause I'm a _professional_, Dom. I don't just sleep with random- with random _people_...even if you can't tell she's really a man...fuck, I dropped my drink."). He laughs with his children while he tells the story, and remembering _them_ doesn't hurt.

He finds an old photo of the three of them and hangs it in the hallway; it looks like it belongs there, where he can pass it every morning and see them as they were, happy and whole and wonderfully _alive._

When he finally goes under with the PASIV it's been over two months.

He doesn't dream of them.

* * *

**A/N:** The song Dom hears on the radio is Stockholm Syndrome by Muse.

_Kathoey_ are Thai transgender men or effeminate gay men. They are males but often make impressively beautiful women.


End file.
